Ditch Your Loofa For A Salux Washcloth

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You know that phrase, "Summer bodies are made in the winter"? Well, that's not what this is about. This is about skin—skin that's probably been under the wraps of denim, tights, woolens, what have you for the last four months (and probably will continue to exist that way for another two). In order to make that skin shine when it's finally time to start wearing less and going out more, proper exfoliation needs to start now. Luckily Sandra, Glossier's Senior Copywriter, has a product recommendation for that. Take it away, Sandy:

Ever since I could remember, there’s always been this coarse, often pastel-hued rectangular cloth in my shower. It’s what I use as a washcloth—and until middle school, I figured it was what everyone used as a washcloth. (When finally looking into it for this story, I learned that this product is named Salux, and while not ubiquitous, many a fervent ITG commenter has sung its praises over the years.)

I realized this wasn't something everyone had when I was in middle school. I hung out with this strawberry-blonde girl down the street from me, Angela. Fourteen years later, I now know that she was probably my first frenemy. But back then, we were cool. She had all the physical features of a Disney sitcom popular girl and I was someone she hung out with because, well, proximity. Anyways, I used her bathroom one day and saw this round, soft, poufy thing with a little string attached. "It's a loofa. You don't have one?" she asked. Apparently not having one was as unhygienic as a tween could be.

Once I got my hands on one, I hit the showers, wet the loofa, squirted some Caress liquid goo onto it and massaged it into a froth. And then I felt nothing. I was just herding some lifeless bubbles around my body.

Of course, I continued neglecting my Salux in favor of the limp loufa for about another month, just to be self-righteous. My skin felt fine. Not fresh and smooth with a two-beer-in buzz like I’d get with my scrub. But fine, whatever. I had to stick to my guns.

Some months later, I brought Angela some of my mom’s kimchi. She said it smelled weird and made us eat it outside. This was when I realized Angela was just wrong about a lot of things so I promptly switched back to my Salux and never looked back. It’s cheap (about $5), easy to use, you can actually scrub your own back. First, I wet it. Then I sand down some bar soap on it until it's nice and sudsy, and I rub it all over my body. The best is when you grab one end in each hand and kind of shimmy it back and forth behind you as if you’re polishing a bowling ball...the bowling ball that is your back. It feels like 16 boyfriends scratching your back at the same time. Rinse, towel dry, and you're left with baby-ass soft skin that feels immaculate.

—Sandra Sou

Photographed by the author.

Put some fabric on your face: read about the very best in cleansing cloths, here.